A Fifth Season is a place of pause to grieve the death of my first and only child. A season characterized by reflection on the big stuff and the little stuff that this mom encounters as I parent the memory of my child, and my child, in loving return, parents my heart.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

December is another kind of season for the blogger in the land of adoption, infant loss, and infertility. Tis the season of "Creme de la Creme" from Stirrup Queens. Melissa Ford, author and blogger and all around good person, each year requests bloggers in the "Land of IF, cities in-between, and points beyond," to reread and choose their best blog post, and then submit it for the list.

Melissa, then reads each blog, writes a description and gives back to our community by posting a list with her annotations. And that list is the "Creme de Creme." It provides us with months of reading posts and meeting and connecting to new bloggers or rekindling our e-friendships.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

I have always been a lucid dreamer. From the time I was a child, I had nightmares and storymares and such. I remember that the nightmares sometimes sent me flying to my parents' room for comfort. And I remember that one of those nights, after my father sent me back to bed, I went back to sleep, and the nightmare continued. And I knew within the dream that I'd have to take care of myself. A feat of gargantuan effort for a four or five year old, I managed to perceive during the nightmare that I was dreaming. I didn't like the way the story ended. Then, I "re-wound" the gruesome story and changed the outcome. Over the years, I developed many ways to navigate the dark and terrifying creations of my mind. I became an active player in my stories. I learned to "run," a special fly-like-deer-running that I created especially for dreams that helped me successfully escape from what ever was chasing me. And I learned to step out of the action like taking a seat at a theatre. And from my seat I watched my mind-movie.

And sometimes these mind movies come in sequels, the latest of which was "A Mountain, A Hut, and a Lion," the sequel to "A Tree, a Door, and a Lion." The first Lion-flick I saw was during the first year after Caitlin died. It was a surprising dream because it contrasted the emotionally draining and soul-trembling creations I was experiencing at that time. In the opening scene, I exited a doorway and was startled to see a lion. This enormous lion with a full main, a healthy shining orange coat and rippling powerful muscles made eye-contact with me. Instead of charging, as I feared, it made pierced my heart with its gaze and blinked like a yaw--only with eyelids. And with a slow nod it remained under the tree. And I remained an active player in my dream, and stood there in the grass with a transfixed on the lion. I perceived that it was content, that it welcomed me to its green space, and experienced its intended shared tranquility. Eventually, I walked on, the scene faded, and I was plummeted into another dream that took more rigorous work. I woke up exhausted, but with the memory of the lion's shared tranquility. Odd.

Two nights ago, the sequel. I am hiking a mountain. The trail is steep and it's getting dark. Others tried to keep up with me, but could not, and I would not slow down. Far above the treeline, I reached the hut and threw myself inside. It was small like a closet with hard dark wood walls. Grandparents of grandparents made this place from old trees; I knew this because the wood planks were wide. The wind howled and progressed to wild gales. But I learned quickly that sounds I heard wasn't only wind. I heard the lion. He was ragged and angry. His rage toward me had fueled his pursuit of me up the steep and rocky trail. Our eyes locked briefly through a thick dingy window at the top of the heavy door. From my seat, I saw my eyes fly open in fearful recognition. I was terrified. He dropped from the window and broke through the wall behind me slamming his massive body against the wall I was hugging. I rolled slightly to avoid being pinned.

This event threw me out of my passive role as an audience member of my personal mind-movie, and into my self-preservation role. I became an active player in a dream state of fight or flight. Fly-running wasn't an option inside a hut on top of a mountain with a dangerous tawny lion inside. I was too alarmed to rewind, after all there was no where else to go. No haven, no fortress, only an ancient hut atop a mountain. I squeezed myself out of the door, as the lion lunged, slamming it closed. I fled up--or was it down?-- the same rocky trail that led us there.

What does it mean? I don't know. I only hope that this is a trilogy. Because, our heroine is lost and directionless, and there's a lion on the loose.

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Live the Questions Now

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now....—Rainer Maria Rilke

Pure Silence (Rumi)

I have come this timeto burn my thorns,to purify my life,to take up service againin the garden

I come weeping to these watersto rise free of passion and belief

Look at my face. These tearsare traces of you.

From "Thoughts Matter"

When tears come, I breathe deeply and rest.I know I am in a hallowed stream,where many have gone before.I am not alone, crazy or having a nervous breakdown.My heart is at work.My soul is awake.

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Words of Comfort & Hope

"See I am sending an angel ahead of you to guard you along the way and to bring you to the place I have prepared." (Exodus 23:20)

~Marcel Proust

There is no more ridiculous custom than the one that makes you express sympathy once and for all on a given day to a person whose sorrow will endure as long as his life. Such grief, felt in such a way is always present; it is never too late to talk about it, never repetitious to mention it again.